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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25697515">Workplace Negotiations</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astronoddingoff/pseuds/Astronoddingoff'>Astronoddingoff</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Night at the Museum (Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, M/M, Multi, Polyamory Negotiations, Porn with Feelings, don't ask me how i fell into this fandom I blacked out and wrote this, fellas is it gay to realize you're bi while fucking your frenemies, implied threesome, porn with a vague string of plot</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 10:41:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,525</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25697515</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astronoddingoff/pseuds/Astronoddingoff</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>If you had asked Al when he ‘woke up’ at sunset today: “How do you think your day is gonna go?” or even “How do you think you’ll die a second time?”, he doesn’t know what he would have said. Especially if he knew those two things would be the same answer. But hell, “death via Amelia Earheart while having sex behind a crate in the storage basement” is still probably not whatever he could have come up with.</p><p>God, and he thought the talk with Larry and the boy Pharaoh about how the damn tablet worked was the weirdest it got.</p><p>Taken from the end of the second movie. The Smithsonian and New York arrange a deal to share the tablet, the Pharaoh, and the night guard. Amelia has the braincell, everyone is bi, and Al is so, so screwed.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Al Capone (Night at the Museum)/Amelia Earhart, Napoleon Bonaparte/Al Capone (Night at the Museum), Napoleon Bonaparte/Amelia Earhart, Napoleon Bonaparte/Amelia Earhart/Al Capone (Night at the Museum)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Workplace Negotiations</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hi all! Don't ask me how I fell into this fandom, it just kinda happened lmao. I've loved this movie for a while and I churned this out in the last week or so after a dry spell. Hope y'all don't mind.</p><p>For those curious: I'm imagining the Smithsonian and the New York Museum worked out some kind of tablet partnership with them (maybe 6 months each out of the year?). You don't need much more than that beyond "the tablet is back, Larry is here, and it's chaos"</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>If you had asked Al when he ‘woke up’ at sunset today: “How do you think your day is gonna go?” or even “How do you think you’ll die a second time?”, he doesn’t know what he would have said. Especially if he knew those two things would be the same answer. But hell, “death via Amelia Earheart while having sex behind a crate in the storage basement” is still probably not whatever he could have come up with.</p><p>God, and he thought the talk with Larry and the boy Pharaoh about how the damn tablet worked was the weirdest it got.</p><p> </p><p>“You know, you and your boys may just get more of this if you would listen to reason.” Amelia quips, casual as anything, even while he’s buried in her. “I can think of a few women -and men, and even a few who identify as neither- that would <em> happily </em> take my place if only you boys made yourselves more available.”</p><p>Al opens his mouth to say something, anything in retort, but Amelia chooses that exact moment to drop back down onto him in a quick thrust. He barely manages to tamp down his cry before swallowing and trying again.</p><p>“You think that the mob should take the advice of <em> ‘come to museum-wide game nights’ </em> from you, a kid Pharaoh, and a night guard, because it’ll <em> get us laid?” </em> He tries to taunt her, but it comes out as more of a wheeze than he wanted. Her hips are a fucking weapon, and the tight heat around him makes it a tad bit harder to come up with a wittier retort than usual.</p><p>“Well it certainly may at the very least give you something to do, since clearly you boys don’t invest your newfound free-time secluding yourselves from others in things like self defense.” she shoots right back, nodding to him.</p><p>His hands are bound by his own tie -a move he still half-refuses to believe she managed to pull on him, distracted as he was at the time- and resting on his chest with nowhere else to go. Her legs are pressed into his hips, and with her hands pressing into his shoulders for leverage, she’s got her whole body weight pinning him to the floor.</p><p>Her managing to lull him into a false sense of security -to tease and flirt with him enough that when she suggested ‘a walk around in storage’ together, he believed it to be harmless- that could be his own fault. Walls down and nothing but ego: carelessness on his part. But her leading him to a secluded area of storage alone? Her undressing him and managing to pocket his discarded tie while he was distracted by her tongue against his? Managing to have his hands bound with it before taking him to the floor faster than he could even begin to process? He had to admit it: her plan was something out of ‘The Art of War’.</p><p>She squeezes around him as their angle changes just a bit, and he has to bite his lip to stop the ragged moan tumbling from his throat. Even still, he writhes with it.</p><p>God, she’s gonna kill him, and as desperate as he is to convince himself he’s more annoyed than turned on, his body is all too willing to point out the lie.</p><p>“Nothing to say, hm?” She taunts him. </p><p>Christ, she’s strong. He can see it in the way her legs flex, her core works. The way she isn’t even slightly out of breath meanwhile he feels like he’s gonna die a second time.</p><p>She grinds her hips into his instead of her rhythmic bouncing and Al wants to scream, beg, anything for her to just <em> move. </em> He nearly bites his tongue off holding back pleas. He can’t remember the last time sex felt so good. It’s torture, it’s heaven. </p><p>But he damn well won’t beg like she wants him to. Even if his thoughts are screaming for it.</p><p><em> ‘Bosses don’t beg.’ </em> he reminds himself. <em> ‘Especially not when the other side has you trapped’ </em></p><p>Amelia seems to catch it all the same. She grins, and his chest does some kind of flip in anticipation, or maybe in fear. She leans over him.</p><p>“Oh Mr. Capone! Is something the matter?”</p><p>“Move” he bites out. <em> ‘Not a beg.’ </em> he convinces himself. <em> ‘An order’. </em> He sneers up at her.</p><p>“No, I don’t think I will.” she replies back, chipper as ever. As though the circular motion of her hips against his as he’s buried inside her aren’t even happening. Like he isn’t dying under her.</p><p>A noise rises in his throat against his will. He strains against the tie binding his hands even when he knows if he rips it, it’s his own problem, and like <em> hell </em> he’s explaining to Larry why he needs a new tie. Amelia seems to delight in his torture. He tries one desperate move to buck up into her hips, to give as good as he gets. To steal that infuriating little grin off her face.</p><p>Amelia takes it, makes a pleased noise, smiles even wider. And then clamps down on him like a fucking vice.</p><p>His vision damn near blacks out in some hellish combo of bliss and need. His head careens back into the floor as a strangled whine leaves his lips. He feels his body curl and contort between the pavement and Amelia’s form. It’s by willpower alone that he doesn’t voice the howling needs of his body and begs her for mercy like he desperately, desperately wants to. When he comes back into himself a moment later, it’s to Amelia's giggling.</p><p>“Oh <em> Al,” </em> she croons. “If I knew you’d be this much fun to play with, I wouldn’t have waited so long”</p><p>Al wants to process her words, he really does. Wants to know what the hell her plan is, what this is to her, hell even the magic words it’ll take to end his blissful torture. But god, his higher thinking has checked out for the foreseeable future.</p><p>“Then why did you?” He manages. <em> ‘Why are you doing this’  </em>he means.</p><p>Amelia seems to get it. She stops her grinding altogether, and Al wants to scream.</p><p>“Because, Mr. Capone,” she says simply, seriously. “You boys need to be taught a lesson. More than that, you need to earn your rewards like you earn your redemption. Now how do you fancy you’ll do that if all you’re doing is swingin’ around the place, nothing but ego mislabeled as moxie? You think you boys are above friendly games of catch or the company of anyone outside your little groups?”</p><p>“I’m the leader of the fucking mob, doll” he responds, happy to get a chance to catch his breath as the adrenaline simmers down a tad. “We don’t do-“ </p><p>Whatever he was going to say next gets cut off when she squeezes around him, again, <em> hard </em> , and Jesus Christ it nearly ends him. It’s almost painful given how hard he is, how long they’ve been at this, how tight she is. He gasps out a plea; in italian, thankfully, so she wouldn’t know it as such, but <em> holy shit </em> she’s got him desperate enough to speak <em> Italian? </em> The first language he learned even before <em> English? </em> </p><p>The reality of how fucked he is starts to set in.</p><p>She bounces once, short and solid, as if to punctuate her unspoken point. Al bites his lip. His hips shake.</p><p>“I don’t think you understand me, Mr. Capone”</p><p>“I’m sure I don’t, doll”</p><p>Like lightning, her hands shoot down to where his hands are resting on his chest. She grabs the end of the tie and <em> yanks </em> with such unexpected force that his hands go flying up past his head and smack into the cement floor. He flexes back against her on instinct, but his arms are still weak from the body-shaking edge of release, and fuck, she’s <em> strong. </em>She’s shifted with the movement, and she stares down at him. Her curls hang down around her face, blocking the light. Her eyes shine in the shadow.</p><p>“Don’t call me doll. Not when it’s <em> very </em> clear who’s really in charge here, Mr. Capone.”</p><p>That… should not turn him on as much as it does.</p><p>It’s only worsened when she grinds her hips in that damn slow roll: her eyes flutter with how the angle must change how it feels. And oh, if the sensation of it weren’t enough to push the litany of curses flooding out of his mouth, that sight <em> definitely </em> is. He chokes on a plea, just barely catches it before it tumbles out of his mouth. His control is fraying, snapping. His arms are shaking. <em> He’s </em> shaking.</p><p>“Most men wouldn’t have gone down willingly when I asked to be on top” she says conversationally, all the while her hips are intent on stealing his sanity.</p><p>“Most men are also cowards,” he replies panting before he can stop himself. “And if ‘most men’ aren’t sprinting at the starting line to ‘<em> go down willingly’ </em> on or with their girls, then they’re idiots too”</p><p>
  <em> ‘Shit. Too far. You showed your hand that’s goddamn blackmail material you-’ </em>
</p><p>“Oh Mr. Capone!” she teases, shocked expression just <em> barely </em> covering her obvious smile. “I hadn’t known you felt so strongly on the subject.”</p><p>He feels heat rising on his neck and face, even if his grey complexion may help hide it. Wants to look away but can’t, trapped by the way her eyes have darkened. One of her hands moves from his wrist to cup his face, her thumb brushing his lips.</p><p>“Assuming you’re offering up a demonstration of your <em> passion </em> regarding the subject in the near future, I for one can hardly wait to see you put that clever tongue to use.” She says, voice dropping just a tad as her eyes flicker down to his mouth. </p><p>If he weren’t halfway boneless and on the razor's edge of coming, the urge to flip them over and show her just how clever he can be would be overwhelming. Hell, even now, there's nothing but her in his mind's eye: red cheeked and lips parted as her hands thread in his hair, the way her hips might feel under his hands as presses kisses up her inner thighs.</p><p>“I wonder if the rest of your ‘bad boy crew’ has similar talents to offer, hm?” she muses lightly.</p><p>“Please don’t talk about my boys while you’re torturing me.” he begs breathlessly. </p><p>“I’d like to object to you calling our current affairs ‘torture’,” she deadpans with a hint of humor in her eyes. “But no, not your little pack of monochrome mobsters. I meant the other two leaders of the ever-exclusive boys club you have going on.”</p><p>Is she-? Wait, what the <em> fuck? </em></p><p>“You’re gonna bring up Ivan the whatever-the-fuck and the short stack of french toast <em> now?” </em> he asks her incredulously. If he wasn’t actively buried in her, he would have laughed. Or started a fight. Whatever came first.</p><p>She cracks up above him. “What, can’t bear to think that another man might also be attractive?” she asks him. Her hips give a rough thrust, her walls clamping down on him, forcing any chance he had at losing arousal right out the fucking window. “Admittedly, the Russian isn’t exactly my type, kind as he is. But Mr. Bonaparte..? Well, you know what they say about the french.”</p><p>“I know I’m not in a position to make orders here, but can you <em> not </em> bring up whether another man would be better at fucking you while you are <em> actively </em>having sex with me?” he pleads. His mind is already racing. Her heat around him and his desperation mixing together and throwing around all sorts of fantasies in his head, and now she’s got him thinking about-</p><p>She <em> stops. </em>Actually, genuinely stops, and it sends his nerves and his head spinning with whiplash. </p><p>He makes a noise he’s not proud of, and forces his eyes back open. She fixes him with a <em> look: </em> one so pointed and knowing that he feels himself freeze under her. And then, with the calmness of an assassin lining up a shot:</p><p>“You’ve thought about it before.”</p><p>Somehow, that single statement makes him feel more naked than their current position. And it hits him like a fucking freight train. Fuck. She knows. He has no idea <em> how </em> she knows. Even <em> he </em> barely admitted it to <em> himself. </em> Called it curiosity, called it nothing, called it a fluke. Every rogue thought he had concerning the Frenchman, or any other exhibit that just-so-happened to be both male and... <em> not-unattractive. </em>But he had never- that didn’t make him-</p><p>“You’re a man, but you’re not <em> blind.” </em> She says, rolling her eyes as she resumes her grinding hip motions. “And anyhow, finding men <em> and </em> women pretty is just common sense as far as I’m concerned. Why discount half of all pretty people for no other reason than some bogus unwritten rules?” Before he can even <em> begin </em> to process that or respond back with a ‘its not liking <em> men </em> that’s the issue, it’s <em> me </em> liking <em> that man’, </em> she’s continuing.</p><p>“And besides that? He’s a man of passion and action. He speaks his mind, he knows four languages. He calls others out on their horseshit -including you- and treats his men well, even when a few of them go gallivanting off to make eyes at everyone from other exhibits to your own boys.”</p><p>
  <em> ‘She- well. Wait, how did she know about-?’ </em>
</p><p>She’s not <em> wrong, </em> and that’s the worst part, isn’t it? That little bastard doesn’t pull a single punch with Al, mob boss title or no. He’ll make fun of other people in italian with him just as willingly as he’ll argue with Al about anything and everything until the sun comes up. He’s the closest thing to a damn ambassador that he and Ivan have between their trio and Larry, and he <em> still </em> has no idea how he does it, and it <em> ticks him off. </em>And when he and Al walked in on one of each of their boys talkin’ all sweet to one another-</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> -- </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“C’est la nature de l’amour, non?” Nippy asked him, taking him to the side after waving both their boys off, no doubt fleeing to flirt in another forgotten room. “Time changes. Love does not. Why punish them for nothing?” </p><p>Al hadn’t even wanted to punish them: his own reaction was more shock than anything. Hell, his men could fuck whoever they wanted as far as Al cared. All power to them. But a frenchman? One of Nippy's frenchmen, no less?</p><p> </p><p>“To find someone who captures your heart, or even simply your desires, and who returns those feelings for you is rare,” Napoleon had continued wistfully, eyes soft. His voice took on a quieter tone, almost raspy.  “Anyone who can find it should simply worry about getting their fill of it while they can, no?” </p><p>And Nippy had turned to him then, with the softest damn look he’d ever seen on him. A tiny little smile on his face, eyes shining with some residual humor from this whole situation. And Al, he- </p><p>Even for just a second. Just.</p><p>Napoleon looked so warmly at him, and something in him just had the strongest impulse to- he had almost-</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> -- </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Amelia looks down at him with a similar calm, knowing look as Napoleon had when gazing upon their flirting men. </p><p>“He’s a romantic.” she says simply. “I can only <em> imagine </em> what he’s like in bed, given that.” She squeezes around him, and he sucks in a breath through his teeth. Bites his lip. She watches his face, looking for a sign of… something. Permission, maybe? It’s his pride against his pleasure. Secrecy against hope.</p><p>He gives the tiniest of nods. </p><p>He can <em> see </em> her pupils blow out even wider. She bites her lip.</p><p>“He’s probably such a tease about it too.” she whispers. She works herself down on him and his head drops back, eyes sliding shut. God, it feels so fucking good. “God, seeing you like this Al, I just-” a cut off cry tumbles from her lips. “You have no idea how attractive you look right now, letting me take you like this, and, just-”. Stars are bursting behind his eyelids as she pants and moans.</p><p>“I can’t wait to do this to him too” she breathes like a confession.</p><p>And god, if that isn’t a damn <em> vision. </em> </p><p>
  <em> Her; bright eyed and confident smile, leading him away from prying eyes. How she might proposition him, all bold kisses and batting eyelashes. Would he beg for her in french? Italian? Every language he knows without a care, without pride? </em>
</p><p>“I wonder, would he prefer his mouth, or his hands?” Amelia gasps. He imagines both behind his closed eyelids. </p><p>
  <em> Nippy, his so-called rival, mouthing kisses into Amelia's neck as she laughs and moans with him in some forgotten corner of the underground storage just like they are now. His fingers buried in her, twisting and curling just so. Napoleons’ eyes, inquisitive and half lidded as he watches her with rapt attention as he ducks his head between her thighs and tastes her. </em>
</p><p>Her hips come to an agonizing stop. She leans over him, whispers down at him:</p><p>“Maybe, if you’re both <em> very </em> good, and you do what I say when I ask you boys to play nice with the others, I’ll invite both of you to my bed, hm? Surely you’re friendly enough to indulge in a <em> ménage à trois?” </em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Napoleon, tied up and watching as she has her way with Al, only to toss him aside to fuck the Frenchman when she’s made Al scream for her. Her, pinned between them in a tangle of limbs and mouths as they make damn sure she gets as good as she gives. Himself, lapping at her clit and teasing the hell out of her as retribution for her torture as she lays back in Napoleons arms, the shorter mans fingers brushing his chin as they fuck her slow and steady. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>The mental images she puts in his head of the two of them; it’s fucking with him in ways he can’t verbalize even if he wanted to. Amelia taking Napoleon like she’s taking him -and she <em> is </em> taking him, that he can at least admit to himself- and the shorter man shaking and moaning, letting himself beg for her to-</p><p>“Do you think you could do that, Mr. Capone?” Her voice cuts through the fog. Her hips pick up just a bit of speed, bouncing just a tad. “Because for all my faults, I assure you, possessiveness isn’t one of them.” She drops her voice an octave.</p><p>“And I <em> do </em> try to share everything I <em> do </em> consider as <em> mine.”  </em></p><p>The mental images she paints for him warp and take over, taunting him like sirens calling from an ocean.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Kissing Amelia himself, then mouthing at her neck while Napoleon kisses her. His and Napoleon's arms intertwining in the afterglow around her. The two of them, working in tandem to bring her off between his mouth and Nippy’s hands. Himself, crawling back up Amelia's panting form after she’s come, and sharing the taste of her on his lips with Napoleon’s eager mouth. How soft his lips might be against his own.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He keeps getting caught between fantasies of watching the two of them as an outsider and, inevitably, putting himself in Amelia’s position. Al kissing down a soft belly, those same whispered french pleas directed at him instead, hands threading into his hair as he sinks lower and lower. His own hands -or even Amelias- trailing up his inner thighs and nudging legs further open. Amelia, draping herself over one of their backs and watching as Napoleon takes his face in his hands, climbs into his lap and leans in and-</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Would you <em> like </em> to be mine, Al?” She asks, and it’s so gentle. A genuine question, not an order. God, he’s not meant for this. Not meant for <em> soft. </em>He’s built for hard barks of orders, dodging laws, making his own rules. He knows manipulation and hardness and cold control like the back of his hand: it's the air he breathes, the sea he swims in. But this?</p><p>Never as he ever thought to build a wall for <em> this. </em> And his name sounds so good off her lips, her offer of being <em> hers </em> so tantalizing. The promise of being <em> shared- </em></p><p>The last vestiges of his control collapse like a house of cards.</p><p><em> “Please” </em> he begs, <em> finally. </em> For release, for <em> her, </em>for what’s playing out in his mind. “Please, please. ‘Melia-“</p><p>“I have you” she says through a beaming smile. And oh, that smile. It’s worth his pride, his reputation, damn near anything in that moment. She lifts her hips up and lets herself drop, and he doesn’t bother to even try to bite back his praise and pleas for her. She swears with him, and when she clenches involuntarily down on him and he makes a throaty noise that would be <em> excellent </em> blackmail against him, she shivers.</p><p>She rides him with a joyful vigor. Pants and moans and uses her free hand to push between her own legs to rub her clit. A rush of a new kind of desperation floods him at the sight.</p><p>“Let me,” he begs. She looks up at him with half lidded eyes. “Let me- please. Just- I need, I wanna-“</p><p>“I assure you, I can take care of the both of us” she says, teasing and breathless, but her eyes are curious. He shakes his head.</p><p>“I know but, but I want- just <em> let me” </em>he begs. The conflicting demands of his body and mind have him spiraling and this is the closest he’ll probably get to satisfying them all. If he can’t have his mouth on her, his hands will have to do.</p><p>She lets the hand pinning his hands down go lax. The instant he feels the change in pressure they're moving of their own accord faster than his brain can give the order. He’s thanking her over and over; in italian, english, gibberish. His bound hands fly to the apex of her thighs, twine his fingers with hers to feel how she’s moving them, the rhythm and pressure. He tugs her hand away and replaces it with his, and when he <em> feels </em>how she shakes around him and on him the feedback loop of pleasure and pride feels like goddamn heaven.</p><p>She croons praise that may as well be music in his ears and shoves a hand in his hair. Bounces and grinds and rides him harder, faster, demanding more. His hands follow her orders like they’re under her command instead of his. He feels like he’s drowning: mindless, gasping. Reduced to nothing but their points of contact and the ideas she’s burned behind his eyelids; of short brown hair and ginger curls, soft laughter and shouted french, two sets of lips sucking bruises down his neck-</p><p>“Oh, <em> Al!” </em> Amelia cries over him, throaty and sensual and desperate. And it’s not fair, it’s absolutely not, the cheapest of shots to take to cry his name like that but it takes him so close so suddenly: has him whining, tears pricking in the corners of his eyes.</p><p>“Fuck!” She cries, seizing up around him. “Fuck, come for me” she says. Not a request: an order.</p><p>His body follows it without hesitation. </p><p>His head flies back of its own accord as his eyes snap shut. His spine seizes up. A near-scream tears from his throat and he can’t care, won’t care that others can probably hear it from three floors away. That if his boys hear it they’ll come running and find their boss, tied up and useless under their former enemy. He comes and comes and god, it’s so good, it’s so much. Tears prick at the corners of his eyes as he shudders at every twitch and pulse of her around his cock, pulling every bit of pleasure from him. He can barely hear Amelia's cries above the pounding in his ears. And knowing she’s just as compromised as he is, god, it has his head spinning. </p><p>When the waves finally begin to abate he sags to the floor, limp and useless. Fuck. He’s gasping like a marathon runner. His throat feels hoarse. He couldn’t move if he wanted to. </p><p>Above him, Amelia continues to shudder and pant, riding out the last few waves of her own orgasm. Looking up at her, he’s suddenly struck by just how gorgeous she is. Especially like this. How powerful she looks as she towers over him, taking what she wants from him, knowing how ruined he is. </p><p>She starts to come down, and it’s just as pretty. Her head sags forward as she pants, bright curls falling with it and bouncing just a bit with each shuddering gasp. She takes a moment to catch her breath, then pulls off him -earning an overstimulated hiss from each of them- before dropping down onto his thigh and all but face planting into his chest.</p><p>Amelia half-curls into him and unties his hands shakily. Once free, he wraps one trembling arm around her. For a few moments, he just breathes. Feels her answering breath on his chest as they bask for a bit.</p><p>“So,” she breaks the quiet. “Will you humor me when I ask you to bring yourself and your boys to more activities with other exhibits now?” She asks him, quietly, after a while. </p><p>It feels like a lead ball drops into his stomach at her words.</p><p>“If that was all you were after, I think you overpaid me for the job, do- Amelia” he corrects himself. Even if she did play him, he can at least respect the ‘no pet names' request. </p><p><em> ‘And that </em> was <em> what this was’ </em> he reminds himself. <em> ‘Bribery. To play nice with the rest of the school kids in the recess yard’. </em> He can’t help the tiny bit of bitterness welling up in him, at not recognizing it for what it was. For thinking-</p><p>“That’s not all that I wanted and you know it, Alphonse.” she admonishes lightly, smacking her hand on his chest. He blinks. His full name takes him off guard, even more than her apparent ability to read minds. She looks up at him, all bright eyed and clever. One hand comes up to stroke his cheek.</p><p><em> “All that I wanted, </em> Al, was for you to be able to let yourself <em> be. </em> You and your boys deserve to feel like a part of all of us. Be a part of the museums, to have <em> fun.” </em> She strokes one hand through his hair, scratching lightly, and oh, that’s not fair either. He can’t help but lean into it. “You can’t very well have much fun if you’re just standing on the sidelines, trying to prove how ‘manly’ you are via hard glares and tough-guy attitudes.”</p><p>He can’t help but snort, especially at her using her ‘I’m fed up with you boys’ tone in respect to the fucking <em> mob.  </em></p><p>She pops her head up, matching his grin. Her hand moves out of his hair to cup his cheek. “You’re a handsome man with many talents -many of which I assume I have yet to experience- and I can’t have you if you keep yourself untouchable. None of us can.”</p><p>He feels a grin tug at his face. That earlier bitter pill dissolves, replaced by a cautious, warm little thrill.</p><p>“And also, I’m frankly ecstatic that you didn’t throw a hissy fit like most men do when I try to take things further than some fly-by kisses, and I would hate to lose out on an amazing find such as you in that regard.” she admits. </p><p>That piques his interest. “What do you mean?” he prompts. She sighs and rolls her eyes. </p><p>“Seems to me like most men are just afraid of what they don’t know. And apparently, ‘what they don’t know’ is a woman who isn’t satisfied with three thrusts from above and a cigarette.” </p><p>He can’t help it: he cracks up.</p><p>“It’s true!” she insists, but she’s laughing with him. He believes her. </p><p>“And they don’t even<em> try! </em>Hell if I had a quarter for every time an ex partner expected my mouth on them and wouldn’t even entertain turnabout being fair play, I’d have enough for a whole new plane!” She’s gesturing now, and that weird little accent of hers is at an all-time tilt, and it’s both parts hysterical and adorable.</p><p>“Cowards, all of them” he manages between laughs. </p><p>“Well it’s a good thing you’re not a coward.” </p><p>“Just look at the world of good it did me.” </p><p>She rolls her eyes and smacks him lightly on the chest, but she’s smiling. He can’t help his own matching grin. She hums.</p><p>“God help me when I find out what else you have in store for me.”</p><p>“You ain’t seen nothin yet...” and he realizes mid sentence that he has no idea how to end that; what to call her. </p><p>She laughs, a bright little thing. “I must confess something to you, about that, actually. I don’t actually mind if you call me doll, or any other pet name your clever cap can come up with.” she admits, settling back on his chest. “I just wanted to make sure that when you did, you knew <em> exactly </em>who you were calling all those soft little names.”</p><p>He catches her meaning. She<em> is </em> soft. Excitable, too. But she’s also quick as a damn whip and honest in a way that’s as unsettling as it is refreshing. </p><p>
  <em> ‘Don’t call me doll. Not when it’s very clear who’s really in charge here, Mr. Capone.’ </em>
</p><p>Every time he calls her any one of those pet names, she’ll undoubtedly fix him with a look and a sly grin. A reminder that every one of those pet names turns to pleas behind closed doors.</p><p> </p><p>“I wonder what <em> Monsieur Bonaparte </em> will say when I ask him to ‘come for a walk’ with me. I doubt he’s a coward either.” she muses gently.</p><p>He breaks out of his thoughts and looks down to catch her eye. She looks up and meets his gaze, determined, but open. </p><p><em> ‘A question.’ </em> her eyes tell him. <em> ‘not an order.’ </em></p><p>He gives it a moment. Recalls the mental image of her kissing the man he supposedly is both friends and enemies with. He waits for the jealousy, the rage. Because unlike her he <em> is </em> the possessive type. He couldn’t get as far as he did if he wasn’t. Always has been, probably always will be. Failing that, he searches for it. </p><p>Except, he still finds none.</p><p>“I trust you'll find a way to convince him,” he says carefully, testing the words on his tongue. “Hell, if you can get through to me, you can get through to anybody. Batshit-crazy, non-cowardly french emperors included.” </p><p>She smiles at him, bright and delighted, and gives him a kiss he’s all too happy to receive. </p><p>“Hopefully it’ll sweeten the deal to know that he has some healthy competition” she muses against his lips. “That, and... if you can keep a secret?” </p><p>He nods, ready to take whatever she tells him to the grave. </p><p>“I’m not the only one he’s got his eyes on when the Tuskegee boys and I are up to our schemes.”</p><p>Al raises a brow. That’s interesting. A few of Nippy’s men, he would have bet money on that being the case. Hell, a few of his <em> own </em>men he would have bet on. The two they happened to catch not included. If Napoleon- then, maybe-</p><p>“So perhaps it’ll be an <em> even better </em> deal knowing that he has competition, but also that that competition in question is a clever mouthed handsome devil.” she finishes, content.</p><p>He shakes his head in disbelief.</p><p>“You really got everything figured out, huh doll?”</p><p>She just grins back at him, delighted and devious. </p><p>“I just know what I like, Mr. Capone. And I’m happy to report that you made the cut.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>---</b>
</p><p> </p><p>They get themselves clothed and back in order pretty easily. </p><p>It’s not hard for her to make up a lie to Larry about “negotiating with our friendly local mob boss” to explain their lengthy absence. It’s decidedly less easy for him to explain to his boys why they’re suddenly changing stances on the whole <em> ‘not going to museum parties or games because we know we aren’t wanted and we’re better than that anyways’ </em> thing, but he’s the boss for a reason. His word goes, even if his right hand man gives him a side eye -or <em> twelve- </em> as he’s ordering them to the following night's game night.</p><p>He leads them over to Air and Space the next night as promised. Things go over decently, all things considered. He assumes Amelia and Larry had a talk with the other exhibits, as within minutes a few of his boys are invited to join in on the massive game of capture the flag. His boys look over to him for approval -and probably some reassurance that this isn’t some kinda trick- and he nods, and after losing a few ties and hats they’re off to the match.</p><p>He spots Ameila by the railing on the floor above, just over the head of his boy Carrino as the kid tackles some tweeded out scientist to the floor. She meets his eye and smiles at him. Nods once with her chin, and he knows. He nods back at her, and manages to keep his face neutral in case anybody’s looking. But he does toss her a quick wink that sends her smile from a polite one to a full blown grin, and that forces him to duck his head to hide his own answering smile.</p><p> </p><p>The next time he spots her, it's a bit later. His boys celebrate their victory with their rag tag team and start up a second game, and he looks up just at the right time. He watches her approach Napoleon at the edges of the cheering crowd. Watches how even at a distance, he can see how the frenchmans instantly softens when Amelia greets him. When she softens her own gaze and speaks after their polite small talk, he can’t hear her words, but knows the cadence to them perfectly all the same.</p><p>
  <em> “Would you mind taking a walk with me for a moment?” </em>
</p><p>She puts his hand on his arm, and tilts her head just so towards the door.</p><p>Hell, he can spot the exact <em> second </em> Napoleon decides on ‘yes’, before he even says it. He waits without bated breath for envy to consume him, for his possessive streak to rear its head at what Amelia is about to do.</p><p>Instead, he finds his eyes glued to her hand on him. He finds curiosity, a bit of a thrill. He does find envy, eventually, under it all. And yet, not the same flavor as he anticipated.</p><p>She nods to Napoleon, and casually looks back at the match roaring below them to catch his eye, checking in.</p><p><em> ‘He gets to kiss her tonight’ </em> he thinks to himself as he watches Napoleon gaze at her happily, even if he doesn’t yet know his fortune. Simply happy to be in her presence. <em> ‘And she gets to fuck him first’ </em></p><p>He nods to her, the ghost of a smile on his face.</p><p><em> ‘Lucky’ </em>he mouths, and nods to Napoleon. He’s not sure if he means it as ironically as he originally intended.</p><p>She winks back, grinning, and quick as that she’s turning back to Napoleon, guiding him away from the thrilling match in front of them. </p><p>Before he gets a chance to think any further about it, a shrill whistle pulls him back to the game.</p><p> </p><p>His attention snaps back to the makeshift field in the lobby. Sees his men crowded around his youngest member. One of the damn tweeds apparently clobbered Carrino in the face in an effort to take back the flag. Larry is quickly rushing in towards the group as the tweeds look somewhere between terrified and righteous. And from the looks of it, his boys are gonna throw hands if someone doesn’t intervene.</p><p>
  <em> ‘Well, not like I got anywhere else to be’ </em>
</p><p>“Hey boys!” he hollers. Larry stops in his tracks, watching. Al strolls into the cleared ‘field’. “You gonna let some punk tackle you to the floor? I thought I taught you better!”</p><p>He pulls his tie free, grabs his hat and tosses it in the vague direction of his boys’ stuff. </p><p>“C’mon boys, let me show ya how it's done, aight?”</p><p>Cheers and shocked ‘ooos’ echo from all around the indoor field, and he has to fight his grin with everything he’s got. Larry catches his eye, surprised, but obviously pleased.</p><p>“Well, if you’re wanting to join in on the action, sir,” a new voice joins in from behind him. He turns around to face the voice, and spots a familiar face.</p><p>The Tuskegee Airmen -sans jackets and flight gear- look back at him. Their leader gives him a grin, and continues. “We’d be happy to even the playing field. Y’know, since you’re clearly capable of taking on <em> all </em> of us.”</p><p>He looks at the man in front of him, backed by the rest of his squad and a few geeks. He turns back to look at his men and the few stragglers left over from the first game. They blink a bit in shock, before his right hand man slowly grins and nods.</p><p>Al turns back to the airmen, looking one last time for any sign of real animosity. He won’t play a game if the game in question is ‘beat the shit outta him and his boys’. Finding none, he wonders briefly what Amelia is up to with his <em> esteemed rival </em>right about now.</p><p><em> ‘Hey, now we </em> both <em> have a story to tell tomorrow night’ </em></p><p>“Gimme your worst, flyboys” he calls to the men in front of him, and gets into a ready position. He hears his boys following behind him. </p><p>The head of the airmen grins even wider, and also gets into position.</p><p>“Ben,” he says simply. Then reaches out one hand to Al.</p><p>He takes it.</p><p>“Al.” he responds. They shake hands. “Nice to know the name of the guy I’m about to crush in his own home field.”</p><p>Before Ben can respond, his right hand man seemingly does it for him.</p><p>“The Tuskegee Airmen are beating the mob.” He announces to the players, and damn near half the audience at large. The crowd goes wild with their jeering, and just over them is the sound of his own team behind him sputtering.</p><p>He looks to Ben and raises an eyebrow. Ben just grins and shrugs his shoulder, as if to say <em> ‘it’s true’. </em></p><p><em> ‘Oh, its fucking </em>on’</p><p>Al lets himself grin back, and shakes his head. </p><p>The whistle goes off, and he flies headlong into the other teams line, laughing like he hasn’t done in god knows how long.</p><p>
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>And that was it! Please let me know if y'all enjoyed (or want a part 2 with Napoleon, bc I have a few ideas around a possible second chap picking up from where this left off lol. Scream at me in the comments and let me know!</p><p>Shoutout to slashingdisneypasta for the good good NATM villain content, and for giving me some help with the inspiration for this fic! I was gonna write something different, but this just Had to be written lmao. I know it may not be what you were expecting, but I hope you enjoyed none the less!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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